


Glorious Improbability

by gopherbroke



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 23:30:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gopherbroke/pseuds/gopherbroke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You wait at the side stage doors for Benedict to exit. It feels like you've been waiting forever to meet him. Little do you know, this will be the meeting of a lifetime. Good thing you're wearing your lucky knickers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys... first time writing something like this. Please go gentle on me. I hope you enjoy it! Leave me feedback please.... I'm dying to know what you think!!!
> 
> xx gopherbroke xx

Your palms are at least ten degrees warmer than the rest of you and you wipe the clamminess onto the rough denim of your jeans.

_Oh God, what if he shakes your hand?_

You wipe them one more time to be sure, and you will the rapid, wild beats of your heart to be reasonable.

Any minute now. You tighten your grip on your shoulder bag as a loud, chattering throng of girls push rudely against you and you roll your eyes in annoyance.

"Oh my God. He is just perfect! Did you see the way he teared up when she died?" The blonde one exclaimed. She starts jumping up and down in place, knocking into you on her third jump. "Oops." she blurts and turns back to her friends. "When is he going to come out?" she whines. "We've been waiting forever!"

"Oh my God." The brunette one yells. "Ben waiting? We've been Ben waiting?!" They all cackle  at their joke and you try to take a step away from them, but the area by the side stage doors has quickly become heavily populated. There is a surge of movement as the handleless doors click open and the cheers around you are near deafening.

You can't help but grin as he pokes his head out before stepping onto the stoop. He grins at the crowd and waves shyly.

"Is this the line for chips?" He jokes and the crowd titters in response.

"I love you Benedict!" The blonde suddenly screams, forgetting that she is only but inches from your ear. He bows in your direction in acknowledgement and the blonde girl screams again.

_You wouldn't be surprised if your ear was hemorrhaging at this point._

"Thanks for waiting." His voice ripples through the crowd. "I'll try to get to as many of you as I can." He grins bashfully again, rubbing the back of his head and ducking as the horde rushes forward, a wave of estrogen determined to breach the shores of the stoop. Phones and cameras are all held high, capturing video and photos as his hand moves a fluid dance that autographs again and again.

You clutch your own waiting photo. It seems silly, maybe even trivial in comparison to some of the other things that his hand has scrawled its assertion across. But it's your favorite photo of him and if you get the chance to have him sign it, it would be priceless.

"Benedict!" The blonde girl was screaming and jumping again, pressing against your back as she tries to claim his attention once again. He glances up and meets her gaze, his eyes then passing over, locking onto you. The world seems to stop as he looks at you, the cool of his eyes piercing you straight where you stand. He doesn't release you yet and his face slowly expresses a curiosity; his eyebrow quirks and his lips pull into a side smile.

You forget to breathe.

As quick as he catches you, he frees you and looks away, your chest then fills with air as you remember how to be human. The people ahead of you have thinned out a bit and you are able to move forward a few steps.

_Almost there._

You wait patiently as the remainder of the people in front  of you dwindle some more. He was now just a few people ahead of you and you wipe your palms on your jeans again.

_You wonder what he smells like.  You bet it smells like heaven and sex._

The last person between you and him receives a hug- if only you could be so lucky- and they go, happily chattering away.

_Finally._

He glances down at you again and grins, extending his hand out to you when a great force pushes against your back. You don't even have to see it to know it was the blonde. She pushes a little too hard this time and you curse the gods as your balance fails and you feel yourself fall.

The ground seems to move up to greet you, anxious to show you who's boss in a fight against gravity. It hurts, both the bitch slap from the pavement as well as the humiliation of him seeing you sprawled out like an asphalt starfish.

You can't help but cry out as a shoe pinches you against the ground. Then another.

_So this is how you're going to die. Trampled to death by Cumberbitches_.

You hear a deep baritone exclaim loudly, even angrily, and then a large, sturdy arm loops around your back. You open your eyes and greet the sight of a pair of large trainers, in near perfect condition standing close, very close. And a knee, clad in dark denim wash.

_Oh God. Is that...?_

You lift your head up experimentally, only to find yourself lost in a clear blue abyss. No green. Wait, maybe grey. And gold.

"Are you alright?" He asks gently and suddenly you realize it's his arm around your back, his large thumb tracing a small circle against your shirt. For a brief moment, you regret the invention of clothing as your body reacts to the circular path of his touch.

You somehow manage to nod and you start to pull yourself upright. His arm never leaves your back and his hand suddenly grabs yours as he helps you stand. The breadth of his hand nearly swallows yours in his grasp, his fingers wrapping firmly around your palm. You are now back on your traitorous feet, but still pulled close against him. His arm drops from your shoulders to your waist and he seems to draw you even closer. You can smell him now, his scent a perfect complement to his obvious masculinity. Raw and woodsy, light on the musk, but fragrant of nature and citrus and a subtle undertone that had to be the kiss of his skin.

  _If only you could bottle it, you'd make millions._

You realize he still has hold of your hand and you try your damndest not to melt against him. He leans against you, dipping his head close, his bowed lips inches from your ear. His breath tickles the tiny hairs on the back of your neck and you repress a shudder.

"Come with me." His voice is a caress of the senses and you nearly come _for_ him instead, right there on the stoop. You nod and he moves the two of you back towards the door, rapping on it twice with his knuckles.

You take a chance to glance at the crowd behind you, some of their faces twisted in scowls of envy; the blonde girl looks ready to push you over again in order to take your place. The door opens a crack and he moves to open it more. He leads you slightly into the waiting space and your heart feels as if it beating a rhythm fast enough to take flight. He gently guides you inside, the darkness behind the door a direct juxtaposition of the loud teeming crowd. It is dark, quiet, and you let out a breath in relief of the silence, not even aware that you have been holding it in. He slowly releases your waist, but not your hand and he turns to slip halfway outside, addressing the crowd once more.

"Thank you for coming, I'm sorry I cannot stay. Due to recent events, I will be leaving early. Forgive me. And please remember to be more careful." The door clicks, resounding through the hall as it closes behind him, jumpstarting your heart and spotlighting the realization that you were now alone. With him. And he's still holding your hand. He turns to look at you, concern etched in his features and he raises his free hand to cradle your chin. He tips your head to his and his eyes seem to scan your face. He frowns, running his thumb over your cheek and you wince. You didn't realize that the pavement had decided to kiss your face and leave a mark.

"Are you sure you're alright?" His voice echoes through the now abandoned hallway and you nod again.

"Yes. Thank you for... for your help."  you stutter, giving yourself a mental high five for managing a coherent sentence while his fingers were still against your skin. He frowns again, returning his concentration to your cheek.

"I'm sorry. " He starts running his thumb against your face again. "Let's get you to the bathroom. Better light." He removes his hand and shows you his thumb, a bright red bead of your blood resting innocently on the tip. The intimacy of your blood on his skin takes you by surprise and he leads you slowly, his ever present grip on your hand still in place.  The bathroom is a single unit, made for either gender and he flips on the light. The bright fluorescents were unforgiving against the injury to your face and you gasp as you glance at the mirror.

 It was a relatively decent scrape. The skin around it was flushed in irritation, your hair was mussed, and your eyes shone with mirth. It honestly looked like you had a good hard romp in the sack, but that was only a glorious and improbable pipedream. He releases your hand and you immediately miss its presence, your fingers twitching as if to try to catch his in their grasp again. Reaching over to the sink, he dampens a paper towel, then returns to your side. He tips your face up towards his again. He is standing remarkably close and you can feel the heat from his body as you lean against him slightly. The cool towel is pressed against your cheek, the sensation making you squeak.

He chuckles as he repeats the action. "So... what's your name?" he murmurs, the low tones of his voice amplified by the bathroom tile. He presses the towel against your skin again.

Somehow you manage to form the sounds from your mouth and his eyes flash.

"I've always loved that name." he answers.

_Oh my God. Was he... flirting?_

You feel as if your heart will stop and your body will collapse  if not for the firm touch of his finger under your chin, on your cheek, and his chest very acutely close to yours.

"The bleeding seems to have stopped." he notes, patting the towel on your cheek one more time for good measure.

"Thank you." Your voice was strong, despite the internal puddle of wavy lines and sighs that he has reduced you to.

"It was the least I could do. I'm sorry for what happened."

"It wasn't your fault!" you protest. He tosses the towel in the rubbish bin and releases your chin. You take a step back and you can nearly feel the crackle of tension in the air. Everything in you screams to touch him again, to close the distance between your bodies until there was not even enough room for air to slip by. Your body thrums, a physical and surprisingly tangible, ache for the solidity and warmth  of his own.

He must think you're crazy, standing here, staring at the perfect planes of his chest and nearly shivering with the tension.

He raises his hand, his fingers lazily running a line down your arm. You shudder slightly as he ends with your hand, one long finger sparking slowly against your littlest one.

Maybe not? Maybe he feels it too? Nah. That's just your fan girl talking.

"I still feel responsible." he murmurs. Then with a start he grabs your hand again, bringing your knuckles up to his mouth. His lips, always so full and pouty in his pictures, are whisper soft as he presses a kiss against your skin.

You internally mourn the choice in your favorite knickers today, as he has completely obliterated them.

Suddenly, in a state of boldness, a flash of courage as powerful and fleeting as lightning, you step into his frame. You wrap yourself around him in an embrace, his body immediately easing the ache that had begun to build. You feel him inhale sharply in surprise as you slide your arms under his open jacket and wrap them around him in a hug. Then, he relaxes, moving his arms to encircle your waist. You feel him move slightly, then inhale again, the air cooling at the top of your head where his nose has rested.

As if he was sniffing your hair.

His hands tighten at your waist, refusing to allow your bodies to break contact.

"You're enchanting." he breathes and you freeze in surprise.

"I'm sure you say that to all your fans." you joke into the snug fabric of his sweater.

"No." he startles you with the resoluteness of his tone. "Not even. There's just something about you. I can't place what it is yet, but you've stood out to me since I saw you in the crowd."

"Before or after I kissed the pavement?" you ask, his eyes twinkling at your comment.

"Before."

You pull away slightly and after a moment's hesitation, he releases you. Your name leaves his mouth in almost a begging tone as you step back again. But then you trip on, well- nothing because you are just that talented, and you flail. He quickly reaches back out to steady you.

"Maybe it's my blatant lack of ability to stay upright." you reply cheekily. He grins, the space beside his eyes crinkling with amusement. He has somehow managed to find your hand again.

"It certainly has its charm." He teases and you blush. "Can I buy you a drink?" He checks his watch. "It's only about 16:20. What do you say?"

The roar in your head of the sound of a thousand fan girls screaming was shattering.

"Sure." You manage to sound casual despite the sudden need to burst into an award winning Broadway number.

"Great." He grins again. "I know the perfect place."

You both leave what has now become your favorite bathroom in the world and head back to the double doors that he had snuck you in the first time.

"Are there going to be more waiting fans?" You tease, trying not to be distracted by the fact that his hand was still linked with yours. His fingers squeezed yours gently in response as he opens the door. The sunlight was only temporarily blinding as he leads you outside. Sure enough, a small handful of people, mostly women, lingered on the steps and sidewalk around the side of the theatre. They all startle as he leaves the stoop, waving at them as the two of you pass.

"Benedict!" An annoyingly familiar voice rings out. He freezes, his recognition of the shrill call apparent by the way his large hand wraps tighter around yours. He turns slowly toward the blonde, who scrambles to run up to him. She tries not to stare at your hand resting firmly in his, but fails, and her face flashes with envy as she approaches.

"Benedict! I'm such a big fan!" She gushes. He smiles, but it doesn't meet his eyes.

"Thank you." He answers. You've only known him for all of a half hour and even you can tell his tone was curt, his eyes flashing with irritation.

"Can you sign this?" She asks, holding out a book you recognize as one he has narrated. You feel him tense and then sigh, and he moves to oblige, always polite and never uncouth. He stops, realizing he is holding your hand with his writing dominant one and he reluctantly releases it. The blonde grins and holds out her book. He signs it quickly and she giggles.

"Thank you!"She squeals as he hands it back. He tips his head at her and starts to turn back to you, then stops, looking back at the blonde once more.

"You surprise me." He states and she grins.

"How so?" She asks, her voice desperate, breathless.

"You were impatient, unobservant, and ruthless, very nearly trampling my new friend here," He answers sharply, gesturing back to you before continuing. "And not once, not even once, did I hear you apologize for your disregard. I am surprised because I suppose I expect more respect from my fans." With that, he turns, taking your hand firmly and leads you down the sidewalk, leaving the speechless blonde behind you as he saunters off.  You resist the urge to turn around and stick your tongue out.

After a few paces he turns to you. "I wasn't too mean, was I?" he asks, then gestures towards a parked car behind the theatre. He opens the passenger door and you climb inside. The vehicle is nice, expensive for sure, and if you knew anything about cars you'd most definitely be drooling. He slides in on the right and the door clicks closed.

"No, you weren't mean." You reply. "At least not that I can tell. I am bit biased though. You were defending my honor, afterall."

He grins as he turns over the engine, which purrs like a jungle cat. "Anytime, milady." 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG Chapter 2. Thanks for making it this far with me! It gets naughty, I promise. :)

The car barely vibrates as he backs it out of the space. "Do you have a car you need to come back to?" He asks as he pulls out into the road.

"No. I took the Tube."

He nods at your reply, shifting gears as he speeds off. You are convinced he can hear the racing rhythm of your heart within the lofty confines of his car. One of your favorite songs starts playing from his stereo and without realizing, you begin to sing along quietly. You glance over at him to find him smirking at you, his eyes filled with a heart stopping warmth. He pulls over on a mildly busy street, leaping out of the car and hurrying to open your door, holding out his hand to help you out of the luxurious seats.

Or maybe it was just an excuse to take your hand again as he refuses to release it. He leads you down the sidewalk and you arrive at an unmarked store front. The windows have their curtains drawn and when he opens the door your nose is overwhelmed with the rich scent of tea and buttery biscuits. A small moan of approval escapes your throat as you survey the cozy cafe.

"Ben!" An older woman , looking around 70 years, comes soaring out from the corner and he laughs, embracing her and kissing her once on each cheek.

"This is Petunia." He introduces you and she grins, pulling you in for a hug. She smells of herbs, soap, and freshly baked biscuits and you greet her warmly.

"Oh, Ben. About time you brought a lady friend here." She claps her hands and he smiles. "I know just where to seat the two of you. You are staying for tea, right?" He nods and she claps again. She titters away, adjusting her apron. You smile at the feeling of him slipping his hand through yours again, and he leads you to follow.

Petunia takes you past the front of the cafe, where other patrons  were scattered about, in through a small but efficient and clean kitchen, then up a small narrow spiral staircase that was tucked behind a small closet.

"Petti!" He exclaims as he reaches the top. "How long have you been keeping this a secret?" You mount the last stair and gasp slightly as you take in the landing. The room was more of an alcove really, with the roof slanting remarkable off to one side. The room was bathed and decorated in earthy tones. A couple of skylights fill the room with the afternoon sun, the light skipping in geometric patterns across the surface. In the back corner there was a small circular table with a surrounding pillowed corner bench. A few flickering electric candles and large fluffy pillows furthered the atmosphere. It was simple, beautiful, cozy and perfect.

"Oh..." Petunia answered casually. "Just had this remodeled a few months ago. Got tired of a dreary old storage attic."

"I love it." He beamed. "My new favorite." He pulled you to sit adjacent  to him on the corner bench. The pillows were softer than they looked, which was a remarkable feat. You could feel yourself relax and you prop yourself ungracefully on the table, leaning in on your elbows. The room was warm, but not overly so, and the open windows gave in to the breeze, with hints of the city wafting in on its scent.

He shrugs off his coat, his broad shoulders tugging the fabric of his sweater in a way that should be illegal. He sits next to you, not close enough to touch but you still tingle with the very nearness of his warmth.

"Petti. Thank you. I'll take my usual brew and bring my friend whatever she wants." They both turn to stare at you expectedly and you feel your cheeks warm under their scrutiny.

"Umm...." You grasp wildly in your mind for something to say. Darjeeling, Earl Grey, Rubioos, or Black?

"How does a little sampler sound, dear?" Petti offered and you sighed in relief. She winks at you.

"Sounds lovely, thank you."

"Right-o, on its way. Mind the dumb waiter. I'll send it up when its ready. My hips aren't meant for those stairs, you know." She chortles and straightens her apron, heading back downstairs to prepare your teas.

"This place is gorgeous." You remark and he nods, his eyes never leaving yours. "I love how if you passed by this place you'd never guess at all the warm character inside."

He grins. "That's what I've always loved about it. There used to be a sign out front. 'Petti's Tea and Cakes'. But then the sign fell down and we regulars fell in love with the idea of a secret tea house. The place is well loved and stays busy enough."

A bell dinged and he left the table to open the dumb waiter, removing an over laden tray full of biscuits, 3 teapots, 2 teacups, and tiny serving cups of cream and sugar. It looks heavenly and you suddenly realize the dryness of your thirsty throat. The steam that floats up from the spouts fill the room with its warm, hazy herbal scent. He lifts the lid to one pot, inhaling slightly and the sun illuminates the sleepy cloud that poofs its way from the lip.

"Hmm. That one's new." he murmurs. He samples the others and grins, finally pouring himself a cup from the bluest teapot. He gestures, still holding the handle, to your empty cup and you nod. You add a dash of cream and bring the lip of the cup to your mouth, inhaling the rising steam. It is floral, with a touch of dark root and as you take your first sip you melt back into the cushions.

_Divine._

You can tell from your peripheral vision that he is observing you and you try not to let the tea cup shake as you place it back in its saucer.

"That is outstanding. " You remark, flashing him a smile. His face lights up as he grins and he sits back, taking a sip from his own cup. You watch as his lips curl around the edge and a stray air bubble catches on his skin.

You try not to be jealous of a thin slip of china- unsuccessfully, of course.

The afternoon passes quickly, the flickering lights becoming more prominent as the evening sun begins to drop lower in the sky. You have completely lost yourself to him, managing to hold your own against his engaging and intellectual conversation. Childhood anecdotes are swapped, interests and random facts are shared, and points are pondered and challenged. He marvels in your shared love of T.S. Elliott and you are ecstatic to find another soul who whole heartedly empathizes in your obsession of Dickens. Before long, you notice the tea has run out and the sun has cast the sky in a brilliant orange.

You turn to him, the silence comfortable and full of promise and intent. There's a look in his eyes you can't quite place and you shift in your seat, uncrossing  your legs. In the intimacy of the cozy corner bench, your thigh comes down to rest against his and his bright eyes flash and darken. Your heart, which had finally been beating at a normal rate, begins to race again and you swallow audibly. You find him staring at your lips and you can see the rise and fall of his chest deepen as he breathes, the rhythm sharpening as he starts to lean forward.

Your brain seems to explode as you struggle to figure out if he is going to kiss you. What if you kiss him first?

His hand comes up to weave through your hair, then he pulls you gently to his face and you offer no resistance . His breath is sweet, smelling of his sugary tea and biscuits as he draws you closer, nuzzling your nose lightly against his. Your eyes flutter closed and you move to close the last electrifying inch that existed between your mouths when a bell rings loudly downstairs. The tension is broken as the dumb water echoes a small ring of its own. Closing time.

"Fuck." You hear him mutter. He retreats reluctantly and stands, grabbing the abandoned tea service and returning it to the dumb waiter, dropping a few pounds from his billfold with it. You also stand, adjusting your clothes and shoulder bag. He turns back around, noticing you standing by the stairs and his expression changes, saddens slightly as he looks out the darkening window.

"I suppose it's that time, huh?" He suggests and he runs his hands through his hair. You feel a sudden, desperate need to ruffle his ginger curls.

"I guess so." You answer. He bites his lip and your own lips twitch, anxious to claim the abandoned kiss that you had been denied. He takes the lead down the stairs , stopping at the bottom for your hand as you step off the bottom. He tucks it into the crook of his arm and you both head back through to the now empty cafe. Petunia tuttles after the two of you and he stops to settle the bill.

"Tea was marvelous, Petti. As always." he remarks fondly, kissing her cheeks again. She smacks him lightly on the arm.

"Oh, Ben. Don't be silly. It's just tea." She grabs you for a hug as you thank her. "Come around again. Always nice to see new faces. You bring her back again, Ben. I like her. " He chuckles and winks at you, then holds the door open for you as you exit the teahouse. The street was growing darker, quieter as you make your back to the car. You shiver a little, forgetting the cold London evening air.

"Where are my manners?" You hear him say, then you feel a sudden warm weight drape around your shoulders as he wraps his overcoat around you.

_Holy shit._

 Your mind blanks as you feel like falling again, the dizzying euphoria of his scent very nearly overwhelming you. You tighten it around you, the heaviness of the well fashioned wool the only thing keeping you from floating away. The high collar kisses your cheek and you notice it's where his scent is the strongest.  You tentatively slip your hands in the pockets, your fingers brushing against... a pack of gum, a lighter, a slip of paper, and... a mobile phone.

You wonder if there is actually ground beneath your feet because you could swear you were flying.

He opens his car door again for you and you are somehow able to find yourself inside and buckled, even with the added bulk of his coat. He puts the keys into the ignition as he closes his door, then turns to look at you, biting a question into the soft pad of his lips.

"Shall I just take you home now?" He asks.

Your mind races with possible answers and their outcomes. A 'Yes, thank you.' would be the polite, more socially acceptable answer, but you are in no hurry to leave his company. A 'Hell no, take me to your place!' is what you want to say, but that is definitely a slaggy response. His eyes are reproachful, searching for your answer. Goddammit. You swear at yourself to make up your mind.

"Umm... sure, if that's want you wanna do. I mean, I don't have to- errrr. I'm game for anything, really. It's up to you."

_Bloody fucking hell. That was a mess._

He blinks, then nods and turns over the engine, driving away. You notice he doesn't ask for your address-in fact you are driving in the exact opposite direction of your home. He drives intently, purposely through the traffic before heading down a road towards Greater London. The drive is quiet, except for the light melodies coming from the stereo and your nearly hiccup when he moves to rest his hand on your thigh. The desperate ache to be against him again, to feel his body against your comes back full force.

He finally pulls up in front of a gorgeous brick home, and you wait for him as he hurries to open your door again. He takes your hand, helping you out of his car and then walks up to the front door. He unlocks the brightly painted door and you enter in behind him. 

"Is this your home?" you ask and he nods shyly.

"I honesty, truly don't bring people back here, so please excuse the mess. It's just me, I don't have a flatmate to blame it all on unfortunately. I just stay so busy..." He trails off, looking sheepishly around.

"Who cares." You add. "It is beautiful."

And it is. It was a bit cluttered, but a bit of mess was expected in a bachelor's house. The floorplan is bright and open, with a pair of couches and a flat screen off to the right and the kitchen straight back on the left with a door along the farthest wall. You can see it leads to a sunset lit garden, and the warmth floods through the windows, casting its dying glow throughout the house. The walls of the kitchen were a brilliant shade of blue and you adored the paper that lined the walls in the great receiving room.  A staircase started a few paces from the door, the wood on the steps gleaming, recently polished. The house was a purposeful blend of old, Victorian fixtures and features mixed with new contemporary style and accents. Paintings and photography were cleverly placed along the walls, fitting the atmosphere of the house perfectly.

"Library and bedrooms are upstairs. There's a loo under the stairs here." He takes your- well, his coat, and hangs it by the door and unties his trainers, pulling them off and then lining them against the wall. The sight of him in his socked feet makes your heart race and you suppress a giggle as he wiggles his toes. You follow suit, slipping off your own shoes and setting them neatly by his much larger ones. He reaches into the pocket of the coat that was wrapped around you and pulls out his mobile. A few taps later and music starts wafting softly through hidden speakers.

He reaches for your hand again- you oblige, and he leads you the rest of the way inside. He gives you another shy look as you continue to look around his home. His fingers snap out a little rhythm and he shifts his weight between his feet,  an obvious sign of his nerves

_Benedict Cumberbatch, nervous about bringing a girl home? Blimey. Can he get anymore adorable?_

"May I get you a drink?" He blurts, releasing your hand and heading back into the kitchen. You follow him and turn to look out the garden door. High brick walls mark off his space of neatly trimmed grass and a patio with a few sun weathered chairs. The sunset is nearly gone and it casts its mellow glow on the patio area. He is still rummaging through the cabinets, and you smile as you let yourself outside, breathing in the sharp London air. A slow settling feeling eases your nerves and you close your eyes as the breeze chills your face.

Whatever happens, or doesn't happen, you're glad- honored really, to be here.

The door clicks open behind you as he joins you in the garden. The receding light sparkles through his eyes as he hands you a small tumbler. You thank him.

"Sorry about that. All out of my favorite whiskey, so I reverted to something Martin gave me a few years back. I don't keep much alcohol in the house- if I did, I'd probably never get anything done." He chuckles and takes a drink, pursing his lips as he swallows it. "Not bad."

The amber liquid is smooth and warm as it slides down your throat, with a sharp burn that wakes up your mind.

_Liquid courage._

You grin at him and he smiles softly back, taking another drink and then turning to stare up into the sky. The sun is now behind some distant homes and the air has cooled from its loss.

"It's been an amazing day." he breathes. "I'm so glad, inspired really, to have met you." He takes another drink and you follow, the alcohol sending a rush of warmth through your body. You feel emboldened and you set down your glass and slide yourself between his arms, wrapping yourself around him in an embrace. He sets down his glass and folds himself around you, resting his head on top of yours. You think he may have even pressed a soft kiss into your hair.

"I agree." you murmur into his chest. "I truly am lucky. I've never been so glad to have nearly been trampled."

He chuckles, his chest humming against your ear and he tightens his hold on you. You pull your head back enough to look up at him, his eyes reflecting the color of the darkening sky. You can feel his heartbeat quicken and his breath hitch in his chest as you lean your face towards his. Your heart feels as if it will fly out of your chest and you inhale slowly, breathing in his scent, the skin by his neck found to be a dizzying intensity.

You hold your breath, lean back, raise yourself up on your toes, and press your lips against his. They are incredibly soft and the fullness of his kiss makes you throb, right at your core. Your body sings as he moves his lips against yours in response. A growl begins deep within his chest, you can feel it vibrate against your heart.

" _Futete_."He whispers, moving his hands lower on your back.

"What?" you ask curiously, tipping your face up to look at him.

"It basically means 'fuck'. Sorry." He smirks and moves a hand to thread in the hair behind your head, pulling your lips to his again.

"Wait, was that fucking Latin?"

"Too much talking." You feel him smile against your lips and then he captures your mouth with his own again. His lips part slightly as he pauses to take a breath. You take advantage of the break in his kiss to move forward and taste him. He groans and deepens the kiss again, threading his lips with yours. You feel him suck slightly on your bottom lip, nibbling it before releasing it.

 "Inside." He rasps. "I've got nosy neighbors."

You manage to make your way back through the door without breaking contact with his body. He slams the door  closed and his mouth leaves yours to travel down your jaw, settling to nip on the sensitive skin behind your ear.

_He must be a biter._

You gasp as he sucks the skin there, one hand still wrapped in your hair and the other braced on your hip. One of your hands reach out to slip under his sweater, teasing the soft smattering of hair above his belt. Your name falls from his lips as he routes his attention back to your mouth.

_Bliss. Pure fucking bliss._

Never in a million years would you ever believe it, even if you could travel in time and leave your morning self a note. 'Hey, me. Make sure to do your bikini-scaping and also to be sure the bra matches the knickers. You're gonna be snogging Benedict Fucking Cumberbatch tonight. Laters!'

You're lucky you did it anyway- the bikini grooming, that is, and you mentally check what you had chosen to wear this morning. Baby blue thong, your lucky ones- and boy did they come through, and the matching brassiere. There was a bit of lace around the edges and they were fresh out of the hamper. You should be fine for what- Oh.

He moves again, reclaiming your distracted mind as he presses against you. You could feel him, all of him, a rigid length against the soft part of your stomach. You arch against it experimentally and he groans in approval. His hands, so wide with decadently long fingers, slip under your cardigan, the tips of his fingers tracing paths of electric heat along your skin. A soft whimper escapes your throat as his hands travel up higher.

"Bedroom." He mumbles into your mouth as he takes a step, leading you as you walk backwards through the kitchen and guides you carefully to the stair case. He quickly pulls up on the hem of your shirt, allowing your bodies to break contact for a brief moment while he tugs it over your head. His hands immediately roam over the smooth planes of your back, tickling the fine hairs that dusted your skin.

"Gorgeous." He rumbles. "So soft." His kiss intensifies in its fervor and he slowly encourages you to take a backwards step on the staircase. You continue, confident in the strength of his hands as they grasp and tease your skin. He shrugs off his sweater on the way, dropping the garment onto the stairs as you turn on the landing. His hands suddenly grip your back needily as he pulls you flush against him and you gasp at the shock that ripples through you as skin meets skin. He guides you gently up the second flight, the receptors in your brain firing wildly as he runs his hands to roam your body.  He is flushed with warmth and everywhere he touches you seems to burn in a way that leaves you aching.

You wrap your arms back around him, ghosting your fingers over the pale, creamy expanse of his skin. He turns you as you crest the stairs and leads you down another hallway, all the while pressing increasingly heated kisses on your exposed skin. His lips return to your neck and you hear him moan as he sucks your skin between his teeth again.

_You wonder if he'd like you to return the favor._

You stumble slightly, tripping on your own heel and he quickly steadies you. He chuckles.

"You're gonna get tired of rescuing me." You tease, shivering as he brings his hands around to your breasts, gripping them with intent.

"Never." He traces the edges of the lace on your bra. There is a brief moment of hesitation  as he feels for the clasp, then your bra releases as he pops the fastenings open with one hand. The air is cool on your skin, but you hardly have time to register it. His mouth is on you in an instant, his hands firmly gripping the round of your breasts. He draws your peak deeper into his mouth, sucking gently and you feel tingles, more like lightning really, race through your body. A little moan sounds in your throat and you run your hands through the loose shaggy curls on his head. You tighten your grasp, tugging them slightly and he gasps, releasing your breast from his mouth with a pop. He groans and pushes himself firmly against you.

There comes a sudden thud as you bump against a hard wooden surface.

_A door? The door. To his bedroom. Finally._

You feel him reach for the handle and you find yourself staring at the strong pale column of his neck and  you grin as he unwittingly offers you an opportunity. You take the advantage, why wouldn't you? You've had some seriously intense fantasies about this man, his voice, his hands, and his neck. Time to pay it the worship it deserves.

Taking your turn, you kiss his neck softly and he freezes. He suddenly shudders beneath your touch as you move your lips over his skin, breathing in the scent you are now able to recognize as strictly his own. Your tongue flickers out from between your teeth and you sample the salt of his skin. He tastes gorgeous and you nibble lightly on the spot where his blood thunders beneath his skin, and he groans as you take it into your mouth.

His fingers dig into your flesh and he presses against you, rolling the evidence of his need into your body as you draw the softness of his skin between your teeth again. He throws his head back, pressing you harder into the door as you move to another spot on his neck, nipping gently as you pass. He growls and pants sweetly in your ear, reaching around the front of you to the button on your jeans. He pops them open with ease and makes short work of your zipper, then slides them off of your hips, grabbing you closer as they crumple to the floor. You kick them away and blush as you notice the trail of bright red love bites your mouth had caused to bloom on his neck.

In another bold move, you reach out, running your palm against the hardened length that strains the fabric of his trousers. He hisses in a sharp breath as your hand rounds over the tip and you immediately loathe the clothing that has deemed itself to separate you from his skin. You reach for the front of his trousers and unfortunately do not handle them as gracefully as he did yours, your fingers fumbling as you try to work the button. Finally it pops open, and you nearly squeal triumphantly.

_Wait-what? What the hell?_

"Why the fuck do these trousers have 3 buttons?" You ask mournfully and he laughs, nuzzling the skin behind your ear again. He reaches down to assist you and his trousers join yours somewhere on the floor.

"Button fly."

He leans forward to kiss you again, a sweet kiss in comparison to the fire that had raged between you before. That wouldn't do. You deepen the kiss and his body is back to yours in an instant, pressing you into the door, pressing his hardened cock into the soft skin of your front. You shudder from the sensation, a familiar and longing pressure beginning to build between your legs. He captures your mouth again, his lips then tracing back to your breasts and he takes one into his mouth. Your back arches against the door to his forgotten bedroom and you reach out in search of the waistband of his boxer briefs.

He notices your intention and shimmies, kicking them aside as they fall to the floor.

Your brain is fizzing, nearly short circuiting as it tries to process your fantasy turned reality. Benedict Cumberbatch completely starkers, groaning as his magnificent mouth his wrapped around your nipple, teasing it to a near painful hardness.

He grinds once more against you, your now hateful knickers being the last thing, the only thing that keeps you from joining with him in a dance that dates to the birth of time. He presses his hips into you again, his erection nestling against you over the fabric. As he moves, the friction takes a toll on your sensitive nub, sparking little hints of pleasure and building the ache that your body has for him. You crave him, you need him  and you moan desperately into his neck. His actions grow increasingly frantic and he moves again to lavish your neck with his mouth. You gasp, he shudders, and you feel him grow unfeasibly harder.

"Please." His voice was impossibly deep with need and you felt a tremble of your impending climax as his tone shot straight to your core. "I- I need you. Now." He thumbs the edge of you knickers. "I promise, I'll make it up to you- many times over. Sweetly, slowly- I promise. Just, I- I. Please." You felt like jelly as he demonstrated again how desperate he was for you with a rock of his hips and you weaken against him.

"Yes." You answer back. "Now. Please."

He takes a reluctant step back, the air between you two crackling with tension that echoed in the wound coil of your core. He roots on the ground for his trousers and hastily digs his hands the pocket, emerging with a small square of foil between his fingers.  He returns quickly to your side, the heat of his skin a welcome presence against yours. He offers you his finding, a shy anxious smile playing on his lips. His kiss returns to your lips and you make short work of the condom, rolling it quickly over him and tossing the packet on the floor.

He growls, then he seems to suddenly be everywhere at once. He leans you back roughly and reaches down to run his hands down your legs. In a single movement, he lifts you by your knees and pushes you higher up against the door. You wrap your legs around his hips, your hands in his hair and his hands reach out to grip your backside, holding you up, holding you at the perfect angle.

His eyes, usually the clearest shade of blue, were dark and stormed with his desire for you. Only you. He reaches around for your knickers again, quickly tugging them aside to allow him entrance. You gasp, arching into him as he slides two fingers into your depths.

Oh God, those fingers. His long digits alone have starred in your fantasies many times and now, as they claim your body, they did not disappoint.

"So fucking wet." He groans. "All for me." He hooks his fingers and rubs them expertly, knowing immediately where to find the spot that ached for him. You feel yourself start to come apart and then you growl as he removes his hand, stopping you from reaching your climax. His eyes flash as he sucks the evidence of your arousal off his fingers.

"I'm going to need to taste you later. " He murmurs, bracing his weight on his feet as you feel him against your entrance. With a slip of his hips, he buries himself in to the hilt, your body clenching and grunt as you adjust to the size of him stretching you, filling you. He gives you a moment, resting his head on your collar and you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

"Fuck. I can't-" His voice breaks. "So fucking tight. I need-" He shudders slightly, trying to hold himself still while sheathed in your heat.

"I know." you breathe. "Do it. Fuck me. I'm yours."

It was all the confirmation he needs before he takes you, thrusting into you again and again. The door creaks under the force of your combined passion and you hope to God it holds. His mouth is at your neck again as he groans, stroking his pleasure into your body. You feel yourself building, higher this time, the pressure in your core rising as he grunts into your skin.

"Shit." He rasps and reaches his hand between your moving bodies to rub the heel of his palm into your mound, grinding the right amount of pressure. Stars start to form on the outside of your vision and his hips snap his thrusts hard and deep into your body. You're almost there, the white blinding pressure almost painful as your body trembles for release, your consciousness fading into nothing but primal instinct. He presses his hand at you nub slightly harder, making a repeated circular motion with his wrist

That was all it took. You feel yourself lose control of all rational thought, your body reduced to nothing but waves of agonizing, blissful euphoria. Your muscles clench, your skin flushes with color, your toes curl, your grip tightening, scratching into his skin as you fall over the edge of heaven.

It was earth shattering, mind blowing, and you hear a series of screams and bubbling, incoherent noises tumble from your lips.

"Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Jesus fucking Christ." A deep voice seems to groan and you vaguely sense him, still pounding into your body, chasing your heels to his climax. Your name hisses from his clenched teeth and he nearly roars as he comes, his cock pumping his hot release into your waiting depth. His body tremors against you as his length twitches in his aftershocks.

You have forgotten what it feels like to have legs.

He breathes deep, heavy into your neck and he presses a soft, sweetened kiss into your skin. And then another one. You melt against him and you feel him fumble for the door handle, his semi hardened length still firmly rooted inside you. The door swings open and he immediately grabs you, keeping you from falling backwards and he carries you through to his room, a gesture for which you are entirely grateful.

You hardly trust your legs on a normal basis; you wouldn't dare try them after he has reduced you to boneless jelly. You nuzzle yourself into his neck, holding him tight as he pushes the two of you, a panting sweaty heap, onto his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew... *fans self*
> 
> PLEASE leave me feedback! I've never written anything like this before and would love to know if it was successful. :) If I've done ok, there is definitely more to come soon!


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